


Hell’s Pass

by Misslashylassy



Category: South Park
Genre: Abandonment, Anti-Christ, Apocalypse, Biblical References, Coming of Age, Cults, Discussion of self harm, End of Days, F/M, Foster Care, Gen, Group Therapy, M/M, Mental Hospital, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Multi, Neglect, Psychology, Rating May Change, Satanic powers, Still Getting Used To It, Therapy, god fearing, mental health, mentions of child abuse, mentions of self harm, puritian lifestyle, questioning sanity and reality, religious, will tag more later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-10-10 10:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20526557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misslashylassy/pseuds/Misslashylassy
Summary: The Hell’s Pass Ward for Troubled Teens; an  intimate facility dedicated to providing personal care and treatment for at-risk adolescence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Friday the 13th And the full moon is probably the best day to post this story.
> 
> This was going to be a long ass one shot but it’s been sitting in my docs for 5 years, I thought if I finally posted part of it I’d be motivated to actually finish. I have pretty much all of it written out I just need the courage to stop staring at it and post it.

Tousled black hair fell into wide, hollow blue eyes, staring the counselor down.

“You think I’m a liar?”

Currently slumped in his seat was the adopted son of a particularly influential politician. A generous donation from said politician built the psychiatric ward a new medical wing, incentive to keep his astranged son’s stay there off the record and away from the press.

The important young man felt suffocated in a room far too small to contain both the intensity of his tethered rage and Counselor Mackey’s gigantic, bulging head.

“Damien...” Those piercing blues watched Mackey carefully consider his words. “Can you explain to me how you got those burns?”

“Oh, these?” Damien Thorn said, nonchalantly rolling up his sleeves, admiring the bandages that covered angry red welts, still fresh and irritated. “I got them while practicing with my father.”

Mackey has the medical report in his lap, written up by the infirmary this morning before discharging the boy for therapy. The politician hasn’t visited the hospital since he dropped off his adopted son.

“Damien, you didn’t have any visitors since I saw you yesterday. Are you saying your father came to you in the middle of the night and burned you?” Mackey’s necktie was tied too tight, squeezing his throat as he struggled not to sound too accusatory.

“I’m strongest on Earth during a full moon,” Damien explains. “I haven’t yet mastered my powers, so father tries to supervise whenever I practice. This pathetic human form sometimes can’t handle the effects of my growing powers, but it’s alright. I heal fast.”

Bobbing his head unsurely and flipping through his notes, Mackey looks incredibly uncomfortable. Damien can tell, he has a lot of practice making people uncomfortable. He doesn’t need a full moon for that.

“Is this related to what you told your last therapist? That you believe you’re actually Satan’s son?”

“The Antichrist, yes.” Damien confirmed, raising his chin and shifting to sit taller in his seat. “And I am.”

“Mmkay...” Mackey gets a deeply contemplative look that pinches his face and irritates the troubled young man before him. “Now Damien, I’m not trying to call you a liar, but we both know you have the tendency to keep people away by distorting the truth. Most of your stories sound reasonable and true, enough so that you’ve managed to fool dozens of professionals into giving false diagnoses. There's something I just don’t understand about your stories.You are very rational and intelligent, Mmkay, I and you know what is believable and what isn’t….”

Mackey smacks his clipboard in a broad gesture towards Damien’s psychosis.

“But then there’s this. This is the only story you’ve kept consistent, the only one you stick by. Your last counselor said you were fully cooperative during sessions with her. She thought you were really opening up to her. Then you felt the need to tell her this wild story about the apocalypse and your personal role in the End of Days. ”

Not long after that, Damien’s old therapist felt that ‘she wasn’t equipped to help Damien with the issues he was facing’ and referred him to this psyche ward. With the politician's approval, she shared Damien’s therapeutic history with Mackey and Damien never saw her again. Mackey smartly neglected to add that part.

“I just want to know why? Why stick with such an obvious lie?”

Not to seem flustered, Damien sucked his teeth and threw himself back into the recliner. “Excellent question, let me know when you’ve figured it out. Perhaps it will don on you when the whole world is in flames and I rule the ashes.”

Mackey just shakes his rotund head and glances at the clock. Their hour is almost blissfully over. “MmKay, Damien I think we made some great progress here today. Will you be in group later?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Damien bites back, hoping his hostility came off clear, as if he were revolted by the very idea. He’s good at keeping up a rancorous facade. Lies are easy to sell, it seems the truth is much harder to believe.

“Are you going to be disruptive again?”

“Most likely,” Damien half-smiles, mirthful and mean. “that Pip sure is a funny kid.”

None of the doctors or counselors would tell him about Pip, but the other patients were eager to share some interesting rumors. Apparently he's been here a lot longer than the typical inpatient care plan, longer than Damien and most of the other troubled misfits currently roaming these halls.

“He was very upset yesterday.”

“I know, and I’m glad. It made me feel powerful.”

Mackey raised a brow. “How so?”

Damien chuckled. There was no use in lying now.

“He believes me.”

666

“The Hell’s Pass Ward for Troubled Teens; an Intimate Facility Dedicated to Providing Personal Care and Treatment for At-Risk Adolescents.”

That’s the mantra the hospital swears by. It’s the line they pitch to indifferent parents before they dump their problem child off on the state. There were locks on all the doors, bars on every window, and a nurse at every corner, ready to subdue and sedate any unruly patients.

Out of all the fruit baskets rotting under the mental hospital’s fluorescent lights, by far the most tragically fascinating is Philip “Pip” Pirrup. Looking like he stepped right of the page of an 18th century English lit novel, the boy had a ridiculously thick cockney accent and seemed to have zero understanding of modern civilization. He was better socialized for scripture reading by candlelight, black smithing and crop harvesting. Rumor around the ward says he was rescued from a religious cult on the English countryside before being adopted by a family in America. When the benevolent novelty of adopting a foreign child escaping a twisted puritan lifestyle wore off, his foster folks ditched him here. The initial hope was that the doctors could straighten him out with some meds to block out the trauma of the cult, maybe make him normal.

Pip was still far from normal, Damien can see when he stepped into the common room for group. Long blonde hair swept back neatly in a loose braid, necktie fastened conservatively high on his throat, stockings under his breeches and his nose stuck in a tattered old bible, Pip looked like he was posing for a Victorian painting.

An orderly sat across the room, staring Damien down coldly, watching him eye the blonde and daring him to start another ruckus. Damien grinned, discarding his usual seat in the sharing circle in favor of the chair next to Pip’s. The blonde tensed up and pulled the bible closer to his face, uncomfortably aware of the dark presence besides him.

“Hope I’m not intruding,” Damien says after obnoxiously clearing his throat. He expects a polite rebuttal, the poor kid’s usual response, but instead Pip signs heavily and sets the bible down on his lap. Damien is almost taken aback when glassy hazel eyes regard him skeptically.

“I suppose creatures such as yourself love nothing more than distracting peaceful people from their scripture.” He’s been sedated, his eyes unfocused and his accent marred with a slur. “The good doctors say I shouldn’t be afraid of you. Not even after yesterday.”

“About that,” Damien says haltingly. He doesn’t apologize often and he isn’t sure if that is what's happening right now. “I had a bad session with Mackey beforehand. You know how it goes. The doctors here are all full of shit. They don’t know what their doing and they don’t give a fuck. They can’t see what’s right in front of them and they don’t realize their twice as fucked up in the head as any of the patients here.”

Damien realizes he is going on a tangent, getting too emotional and going beyond the point, making Pip’s eyes unfocus even more. “Nevermind..I took my bad mood out on you. I’m sorry, I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. What you said though--”

“So you admit it then?” Pip asks suddenly, cutting Damien off.

“Admit what?”

Pip had to stifle his giggles into his hand, “That you’re..fucked up in the head!”

Damien brisles, actually taken aback now. They must have doped him up with the good stuff; the blonde would never have the balls to talk to anyone like that on his own, especially not someone he believes is the literal fucking Antichrist. Now flustered and feeling foolish, Damien moved to get up until Pip stopped him.

“I’m sorry too,” He said, awkwardly trying to make his own apology. “I behaved quite ungentlemanly. I was raised to treat everyone respectfully, even if they are evil incarnate.”

“I...Thanks, I guess.” Damien wasn’t accustomed to thank yous either, but he actually was grateful.

“To be perfectly honest,” Pip continued, swaying but content in a drug induced haze, “I don’t remember it all too well. They say I cursed you and threw holy water.”

“It was bottled water from the vending machine,” Damien corrected him, “but I got the point of it. No hard feelings, I’m used to that kind of stuff from religious nutjobs like you.”

“Ooh,” Pip smiles cheekily. “Those feelings sound pretty hard.”

“Shut up, Pip.” Damien smiled back and gave the blonde a light shove, ignoring the glaring orderly in the corner. “...There was something you said though, before all the screaming about damnation and trying to burn me with a holy water bottle, I mean. ”

Those seemed to be the wrong words. Pip visabily stiffens and looks away, clutching his bible tighter in his lap. “I don’t remember.”

“You have to,” Damien almost pleads. Pip is the only one that believes him, maybe the only person here who can understand...

“I don’t remember, I’m sorry.” The blond heaves himself up, too fast considering the tranquilizers coursing through his system. Swaying, Pip makes a run for the door, bible clutched desperately to his chest. The orderly stops Damien from chasing after him, leaving him frustrated and alone with his unanswered questions, just as group was about to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

_Damien stormed into the common room, livid and ready to explode on anyone or everyone. He shoved someone out of his way, later realizing it was Pip, the annoyingly British kid._

_Plopping down next to a twitchy weirdo pulling his hair out, Damien promptly crossed his arms and hunched down low in his chair in the sharing circle._

_He hated group therapy. Damien wasn't crazy, he wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be by his father’s side, being groomed for his destiny, not sitting around a circle of pathetic, psychologically damaged children whining about their feelings._

_Damien was still brooding moodily when the therapist leading the group tried encouraging him to share._

_He didn't want to sit here and listen to anyone's problems and he certainly didn’t want to share his own._

_“Devil got your tongue?” Asked a smirking Eric Cartman, milking a few chuckles from the group. He was here for several counts of violent behavior and psychotic tendencies. He was also insufferably confrontational and crude._

_“Fuck you, Fatass,” Damien’s face felt hot. “You cannot fathom what I could do to you.”_

_At this point the therapist was trying but failing to regain control of the session. The atmosphere became even more tense as everyone, with their anxiety disorders and social phobias, sat on the edge of their seats as they watched Eric and Damien about to duke it out._

_“This is too much pressure, man,” the quaking blond kid next to Damien muttered. He’s only been here a few days and was coming down off some cheap drugs his parents were apparently pushing on him._

_“Check it out, you guys,” a smile cracked Eric’s stupid, fat face. “ Fartboy is hitting on me.”_

_Damien flared up, face beat red._

_“You revolting cretin-”_

_“Eric, you really mustn't tease him.” Someone piped up. Damien was so angry he didn't realize who it was at first. Pip liked to quietly listen most of the time, sometimes offering polite advice that typically went ignored. He seemed terrified now, glancing fearfully at Damien. He started distancing himself from Damien when the truth came out about him. He was the only one that didn't laugh him off. “You don't know what he is capable of, think of what provoking him can do to your immortal soul. God doesn't want you to fight his battles—”_

_“Cram a baguette in it, Frenchie!” Cartman barked with an incredulous laugh. “He’s not really the fucking Antichrist, you goddamn nutcase.”_

_“That's enough, Eric!” The group therapist finally asserted herself. “Pip is right.. well, in that we don't know what Damien or any of us are really capable of. Or what they are going through or where they've been. What we do know is that we need to respect each other and our experiences and self perceptions. If Damien finds comfort in an...unconventional self-image, it is not our place to judge.”_

_“Isn't that your job?” Asked Stan Marsh, a gloomy youth with manic depression and an alcohol dependency. “Like, as a therapist? To judge crazy delusions from reality or whatever?”_

_Damien was seething quietly, on the brink of a total meltdown. The therapist attempted to smile apologetically at him but faltered when he only glared._

_“It's my job to preserve the health and wellbeing of all of my patients, no matter how they identify themselves or their understanding of reality. I believe it’s important to empathize with each other so that we may understand and maybe even help each other. I encourage you all to try and empathize with everyone in this room. That’s the point of group therapy. You each have unique ideas and perspectives to bring to the table and you each have the opportunity to aid in someone else's healing process while you work through your own individual issues.”_

_The room goes quiet after the scolding, not even Cartman daring to challenge the silence with a cruel quip or remark, knowing that it might mean extra chores or loss of privileges._

_“...I imagine it must be very overwhelming,” Pip cautiously ponders aloud._

_“What must be overwhelming, Pip?” The therapist asks, eager for a reflective shift in the conversation._

_Damien froze when shy, hazel-gray eyes glanced his way._

_“It must not be easy…”_

_Suddenly Pip looked horrified, by Damien or by some of the thoughts clearly swirling around in his head, Damien couldn't be sure. He looked embarrassed, scared and mortified with himself all at once, like he was going to be sick._

_“You...you cannot show compassion for this type of creature. He’s an abomination and he'll drag you down to Hell with him!”_

_“Pip?”_

_“He’s a monster! I won't sympathize with the likes of the Devil, I won't! I won’t!”_

_The blonde kept screaming and Damien only watched, surprised but oddly delighted and he wasn't sure why. His lips crept up into a smile and the screeching got louder. He kept smiling even when Pip threw a water bottle at him._

_ 666_

_Almost a month later, the moon is almost full..._

Another_ building obstructs Damien’s view of the night sky from his window. He doesn’t need to see the moon to feel it. He knows it’s out there, waning, illuminating the darkness and making his skin crawl. His blood simmered under his flushed flesh, his muscles tense from deep aches in his bones._

The power within him is boiling in his core, still dormant but becoming unbearable, stifling inside Damien’s pathetic human form.

If he could just go outside, feel the light on his skin…

“Checks!” A cheery night nurse calls, poking her head into the gloom of his prison. “Damien? It’s late, you should be in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he groans. Damien couldn’t possibly sleep now, not while the moon is up, almost full and hidden from him. He desperately wants to feel it, it’s cool rays on his skin, his real skin. He rubs his forearms, smoothing his hands over prickly goosebumps and rapidly healing scars.

“I’ll talk to Mackey in the morning,” the nurse says kindly. In other words, she’ll see about upping his nighttime dosage, maybe add a sedative or two, something to force him into complacent sleep.

“I’ll lay down,” he says quickly.

Whenever they have to sedate him, they have to use the stronger stuff. They choose not to believe him, even with the evidence right in front of them. They keep drugging him to almost no avail; ignoring the truth tickling the primal fear lingering in the darkest parts of their pathetic human brains. Deep down they all know, they can sense his foreboding eminence. If they don’t, they will soon enough, he’ll make sure of it.

“Really, it’s okay, I usually sleep fine.”

The nurse looks thoughtful for a moment, then relents. “Alright, I’ll just check on you a little later then.”

Laying uncomfortably on the sterile mattress does nothing to alleviate the crawling under Damien’s skin. Sharp, grading pain racks his fingertips and he claws at the sheets. If he could just shed this accursed flesh, ascend and inhabit his true form, these concrete walls couldn’t contain his might. But Damien is trapped, trapped in this insufferable skin, in this godforsaken room, in this damned hospital.

If only he could see the moon, if only he could get outside.

He had to get out,

He had to…

“Checks!”

There is laughing, hysterical and humorless.

“Damien?”

Blood stained his fingers and the sheets.

“Damien! Look at me, look at me! Damien! Do you hear me?”

He couldn’t hear anything over the howling laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to post before the season premiere. Reach out to me at  
Foreign-kids-in-hell on tumblr,  
Cola-fiend on Twitter  
Or Misslashylassy on discord  
I have a chip/dip/gregthope/creek story in the works, got 5 chapters so far, if anyone 18+ wants to beta read it for me that would be awesome!


	3. Chapter 3

“Mmmkay, Damien, how are you feeling today?” Counselor Macky asks, eyes already glued to his clipboard as he settles into his chair for their session.

“Drugged,” Damien is cradling his head in his throbbing hands. Last night the nurses managed a psychotropic cocktail that was strong enough to sedate him but made his throat itch and temples pound. His brain felt like a cloud full of lead. “Can I get some water?”

“Of course,” Mackey produces a paper cup of cold water. 

Damien downs it in two gulps but it does nothing for his cottonmouth. 

“Why don’t we talk about last night?”

“Go to hell.” The throb in his fingertips traveled up his arms, inflamed under the fresh bandages.The rest of him also aches, partly from struggling against his restraints, mostly from fighting the effects of the drugs and moonlight.

“Damien...”

“Get that pitiful look off your face, old man. This wasn’t what you think.” Damien wished he hadn’t finished the water so fast but he didn’t want to ask for more. Instead, he crumpled the cup in his aching hands.

“Do your fingers hurt?” Mackey presses on, eyeing his fresh bandages.

“Hardly,” Damien lies, crinkling the cup purposefully. 

Mackey stands and does the first competent thing in his clinical career and fills a new cup from his personal water cooler and hands it to Damien.

Damien sips slowly this time, holding the water in his mouth woefully before swallowing. 

“Have you talked to Pip recently?” Mackey asks about Pip a lot, at least once every session if he doesn’t come up naturally. It always got some response from Damien.

“Not really, we eat lunch together sometimes, before he thinks twice about it and runs off.” At first, Damien intended to leave it at that, but decided there might be something worth saying there. “I know you’re excited that I’m making friends here, making meaningful connections to help me through the healing process, all that bullshit. You think he’ll help me think, wonder if maybe I’m _ wrong _ , that maybe I _ am a delusional _ _liar_, and that _ you _ were right all along.”

“Now Damien-”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? For me to just admit you're right? You think maybe I’ll come to my senses when I realize the only person who believes me is batshit crazy too! You would fucking love that. But these,” Damien raises his hands. “These are proof, evidence of my becoming-”

“Damien, you bit off all your fingernails.”

The comment cuts through the rising energy of Damien’s tirade, transforming his fury into helpless rage, his constant companion. That disturbed look on Mackey’s face is annoyingly familiar to Damien, discomfort palpable as he tries to make sense of the deranged whelp in front of him. 

They always had some kind of explanation; his burns came from his dinner soup, his height and bulk made him more resilient to meds, and now his teeth are responsible for his bloody nail beds. 

“Is that what you think happened?” Damien rises abruptly from his seat. “Is that all the tiny brain lost in that ugly, massive head can comprehend?"

There is a brittle, frightfully hysteric edge in Damien’s voice as he continues to rave. “You think I’d hurt myself? You need to stop lumping me in with the rest of your pitiful patients. These are not some pathetic cry for attention, these are the marks of my maturity. This body can no longer contain my true form, I am outgrowing it. My true nails will grow in their place and the rest will follow. Soon you will all tremble before my greatness.”

Mackey seems to be at a total loss, not knowing how to respond at all. None of his schooling could have prepared him to deal with this. Damien was always too much for just about anyone.

Damien can’t control the emotions that come forth as he continues to rant. It cracks his voice and stains his cheeks a furious red. 

He has no control over anything at all anymore.

“My father warned me to keep my identity a secret here on earth, that the world was not yet ready for my becoming and onslaught of terror; he warned me about all of this. The rejection, the ridicule, the _ imprisonment _ . But I didn’t listen. I couldn’t, it was _ burning, boiling _ under my skin, threatening to tear out of me without my control. I should have never trusted my last therapist, that worthless cunt, she sent me here to _rot_.I should have never trusted her, I should have kept everything to myself, maybe I could have learned to control it. Maybe I could have learned to be normal, fit in, realize my destiny as a charming politician and take over the world without my powers. Maybe I could’ve made my father proud, maybe I’d be happier. It’s all ruined now. I… I don’t know what to do now.“ 

The admission surprises him, and counselor Mackey lunges at the opportunity.

“I can help you!” His irritating voice is soft and desperately compassionate. He dares to reach over to touch Damien, trying to guide him back to his seat. Damien recoils, crumpling in on himself. 

“If I could just get outside…” Damien trails off, suddenly drained and hugging himself. He tilts his head upward, eyes burning. 

He missed the optimistic glint dim in the counselors eyes, expression becoming tight and guarded.

“Now Damien—“

“If I Genuinely believe what I’m telling you, that my powers come to me during the full moon, and if you really believe I’m lying, wouldn't it be beneficial to us both? If I could just show you? Whichever of us is right, isn’t it your job to help me find definitive proof? Don’t you think it is more cathartic, even therapeutic, to let me show you what I feel? Rather than lock me up and label me a crazy liar?”

He was a liar, of course. He was a natural at deception and trickery, as his purpose demands. Now it only felt like he was lying because no one wants to believe the truth.

“ OK Damien, I want to see things from your perspective. Why don’t you sit down and start from the beginning?”

“ What’s the point of you owning my case files if I always have to repeat myself?” Damien snaps, defeated but boiling within. He tentatively sits back down, teetering stiffly at the edge of the seat.

“Damien—“

“No!” Damien won’t hear any more of this community college psychology. “ let me outside tonight, when the moon is full, so I can show you! So I can see and feel it and...“

Damien breaks off before he starts ranting again and breathes deep. He slumps back, fisting his hair through sore, trembling fingers.

“Bring all the orderlies. Hell, bring a swat team if you want.” Damien drags his hands over his face, the bandages rough against his cheeks and mouth. “Just let me outside. If you’re right and nothing happens...”

“I swear, I’ll say I was lying all along and I’ll,” He’s reduced to bargaining now, “I’ll take all the meds you want, drool all over my arts and crafts, cry during group therapy, all of it. I’ll be the best mental patient you’ve ever seen. Just..just let me outside.”

Damien watches Mackey consider his next words carefully. His hands are still shaking, deportation stewing with dread and anxiety in his gut.

“Mmkay, I would need to talk to my supervisor,” Mackey says finally, clicking his pen and making a note on his clipboard. “And with your doctor. I would also need to talk to your parents to approve changes to your treatment plan. Now, I can’t make any promises, but by this time next week I might be able to get permission for a quick walk outside one night, just not too late.” 

“A few days won’t help!” 

The moon won’t be full anymore, it will be pointless. He won’t be able to _ show them. _He’ll probably just end up waiting forever for the politician or his barely legal third wife to even return a call from the hospital.

“It needs to be tonight,_ please! _” Damien doesn’t ever beg, it leaves a shameful, bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’ll do what I can, but-”

“If it isn’t while the moon is full it won’t _ matter! _” Damien slouched over with his finger digging painfully into his head. “It will be pointless!”

He’s nearly sobbing now, pathetic. So _fucking pathetic. _Why can’t anyone just _understand?_

“Why don’t we compromise, mmkay?” Mackey tries to sound soothing, grating further on Damien’s fried nerves. “I can’t get this done in the next few days, but maybe if you are cooperative and you can convince me and the other staff that you’re serious about accepting our help, we can go outside next month?”

Damien’s anger reaches his hands before he has the reason to stop himself. Mackey hardly has time to flinch before Damien picks up the counselor’s coffee mug from the table between them and wings it at him.

“_ Fuck you! _ I won’t play your games for nothing! I won’t sit here coming up with believable lies because you won’t accept the truth. I’m not going to let my brain rot here-”

“Damien! Please, calm down!”

“No! I won’t suffer any more of your psychobabble and choke down a bunch of pills because of some empty promise that you’ll _ try for next month. _ By next month you’ll have come up with another excuse, and the month after that, and the next 10 months or however long you plan to keep me locked up in here, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see the moon again!”

The words come out as a shocking realization that clogs Damien’s throat and makes his eyes sting with angry tears. “_ I _ am the _ Antichrist _ , bringer of doom and destruction, _ son of Satan! _I refuse to be treated like some pathetic-”

Damien wasn’t sure if it was his outburst and screaming that called attention to Mackey’s office, or if there was an emergency button under the counselor's desk that called for help. Either way, Damien is suddenly being subdued by two burly orderlies, restraining him so a nurse can approach him, needle ready in hand. Amidst his struggles he felt the poke, the boiling heat in his veins replaced by ice water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized the other day I haven't updated this story since before the new year, so technically I haven't updated since last decade. I guess if anything good comes from this virus I'll be able to work on writing. 
> 
> I want to focus on other characters in the next few chapters. Next will be Tweek's story, which I'm excited to write. As always, let me know if you want to see any characters and what diagnosis you would give them!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and stay healthy and safe out there!

**Author's Note:**

> I’m pretty familiar with therapeutic structures and theology so I really want this story to respsemble what being in a inpatient treatment facility is actually like. I’m open to constructive criticism, I just want this to be a respectful and realistic interpretation of the healing process. In convenience to the plot and character perspective, of course.
> 
> I’m also new to Ao3 so I’m not sure how tagging works, please let me know if I should change the ratings or tags.
> 
> Your support means the world to me, let me know if you have any diagnosis headcannons for SP characters that I can include.


End file.
